


The Sunset Fades from Your Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2153181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hi, I'm here to ruin your life. My name is Harry Styles but I identify as the vodka burning the back of your throat."</p><p>Harry Styles has many addictions - some more deadly than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sunset Fades from Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really not sure how to summarise this, nor am I sure how people will take it. The only word I can think of to describe this is _Stylized_. I do know that it won't be everyone's cup of tea - if anyone's at all. It's written fairly poorly on purpose because I want it to be more erratic than orderly. I'm very hesitant about posting this since all I did was cry and cry while writing it today, but here we go! Any mistakes are of course my own.
> 
> I loosely wrote this around [ this](http://nudesfornarry.tumblr.com/post/95031378286/thank-you-so-much-i-was-looking-for-a-1st-pov-with) message I received on Tumblr.

Hi, I’m here to ruin your life.

My name is Harry Styles but I identify as the vodka burning the back of your throat.

I grew up with Zayn Malik. He had brown, brown eyes like dark, melting chocolate, and sometimes they looked sad when they’d bore right through me. We had sleepovers; secret handshakes that rhymed with free milkshakes and we would litter the walls of his room with spray paint. They were fun times. But you moved away and I started spray-painting cars instead, and a whore named Daisy told me she’d change my life and make me feel alive. I cried and I cried. My skin was _red raw_ but not like roses because I only ever saw roses when _NNNNN_ started showing his face around here. But I cried, and the cocaine began swimming into my system in white blasts of _I’m going to fucking ruin you. I’ll change your life, darling. Close your eyes. It’s only up from here._

Hi my name is Harry Styles and there’s a letter N stuck in between my teeth but I don’t remember eating this morning. I stare across a room and the windows shatter and water begins to rise, rise, rise; it’s watered down blue and his eyes are coming in tides. I don’t know where I know that colour from but it’s stapled to the back of my mind with cocaine skin and barbed wire clinging to milky new teeth, and I think _NNNNNNN_.

I grew up with a cat named Dusty. She died. She ran out onto the road outside the strip club. At the same time it was happening, I saw black and blue and purple scattered down my hips and thighs. I wrote about her for psychology class – my psychology essay that I got handed back with a big fat _FFFFFFF_ on it and my teacher laughed, she laughed. THAT IS WHAT YOU CAME UP WITH, HARRY STYLES? THAT’S YOUR TRAUMATIC CHILDHOOD EVENT? Fuck Harry Styles, you have no excuse. No excuse for the remains of cocaine on your fingertips from the school bathroom where you just wanted to forget for a while.

Hi, Hello, _Niall Horan_. Yeah hi, I’m Harry Styles. Yes, _Styles_. Want me to ruin your life? _Niall, Ni, Nialler, Ni-ni, Blondie_ … cocaine white in your eyes and I can barely breathe. It took half a bottle of whiskey and a hurried wank in a bathroom stall to find the courage to talk to you, Niall Horan. But hey, I made it, didn’t I Ni?

Harry Styles, they talk about me. They say, Harry Styles, _he does coke all time. He shoots up heroine._ But I don’t. I just _won’t_ do that. They say I’m a loner, a dweller stuck in my dark cave. They say I’m fucked up, that I’ll ruin your life and push you past the point of breaking. I’ll suck the happiness from within you; fill it with alcohol and self-depreciation instead. They talk about how Harry Styles has never been in love. It’s all the truth; I’ll put my hands up to it all.

But you came along, didn’t you; with sunsets in your eyes and a promise of something much better than this. I wanted you to burn me with those eyes.

My next psychology paper is about a parent. I should write about the mother whom I never loved, or how after 8 hours in labour she tossed me to an alcoholic father who dropped me as easily as he dropped empty bottles of whiskey and gin. Yeah, I should write about that. Make them cry; make them think that I’m really just broken. _Then I’ll have an excuse_. Don’t mark me with _FFFFFFFF_ , Miss. That alcoholic bastard told me I failed enough already.

 _Niall Horan_. I had a dream about you, Niall Horan.

They were all right about you. Sober most of the time. _A social drinker_ , you said. You remember that, Ni? I laughed and you asked _what’s so funny?_ I’ll tell you something, Blondie whose name won’t dare leave my mouth. _I don’t drink to socialise. No – I drink to drown, drown, drown_. Always gasping for air. And then you gave me a look that makes you look like a sad puppy. It just makes you so sad, Niall Horan, that I’m already putting myself down in front of you, but hey I’ll ruin your life. That’s what I’m here to do. Are you ready?

Niall Horan, I had a dream about you. It was a sequel. My head hurts the way it always hurts when I wake up. You were in my dwelling cave, pouring freezing cold water over my lifeless body. It felt nice. I couldn’t tell the water from your tears, though. _Are you happy, Ni?_

I haven’t eaten in over a week now. Nothing, nothing. I’ve only drunk hours away into minutes and minutes away into nothing but seconds that feel like a lifetime of pain and misery. It’s August nineteenth. Results day. _I got a fucking C on my mother essay_.

 _Niall, Nialler, Ni-Ni, Ni._ Have you ever felt completely alone in a room full of people?

 _Me, no._ Really, my Nialler? That’s cute. You’re cute. I’ll ruin your life. It’s funny; I’ve never done cocaine or showered or slammed fists into walls in my entire life! I wish you would stop lying when people ask you questions.

Niall Horan, your smile creeps up on me like the moon when I wake up screaming in the middle of the night. I woke up and puked up blood. I watched as it sunk into the carpet and I cried for the first time in three years because you’re like a fucking hot stove burn on the side of my brain.

They told us to write about someone who influences you. I wrote, _Ni Ni Ni, Niall just scares the living shit out of me and I don’t want to be better but Ni baby, you’re so inspirational with your maximum of two drinks policy_. I turned it in and the teacher scoffed. _FFFFFF_ , but that’s okay Ni, tell me it’s okay.

Hi Niall Horan. We then met a week later, do you remember? Crossed paths or _stumbled_ , should I say. Niall Horan pleased to make your acquaintance again. I’m 007 I’m dangerous don’t touch me. _(Please, please don’t. It hurts when your thumbs press into the blue and purple and red and green and it’s a rainbow, really Niall you’d love it!)_ We were at another party. You said _Hi Harry!_  all sweet and sugary like honey just fell out your mouth and your face melted upside down; I wanted to eat the skittles dotted in your eyes. Are you sweet or sour, Niall, Ni. Hello?

 _You look sad_ , you said. All I said was _I just don’t know, I really don’t_.

My Ni. It rhymes like this is all _meant to be_. I’m seeing more of you, and not just in my head but also in the café down the street where your face is pinned to the noticeboard. Your face is screaming _NOTICE ME, NOTICE ME_ when I’m buying caffeine for the days I’m short of money and energy. Sometimes you look like you want to touch my buzzing, buzzing skin. Sometimes you look like you _just don’t know_ , either. That makes me so sad, I’m sorry my Ni. Sorry. I’ll ruin your life, I told you so.

Zayn Malik said there wasn’t anything inside of me that he could believe in anymore. He told me that over text one night. I read it while I was drunk and then again before deleting it and throwing my phone against a wall. At least it wasn’t my fist, right Zaynie? But it was already there, there, there, branded into my brain and I can’t forget. Hope you’re good Zaynie. Hope life is nice for you. _Why did you fucking leave me in this hellhole?_

Niall Horan, it’s seldom that I’m sober. It makes me feel like I’m going to shrivel up and die. Take this moment of Harry Styles _clean and sober_ home with you, because you won’t be seeing it for very long.

 _Hey Harry, how are you?_ Your voice always sounds so concerned like you’ve stayed up all night coming up with something to say to me; something that won’t _break me_ or _push me_ further into an abyss. I wonder what your TRAUMATIC CHILDHOOD EVENT was and I wonder what you would write to get that _AAAAAAA_ from the devil.

I say, _I don’t know, I don’t feel good_. But you already know that, don’t you, Ni-Ni? You see, I’m an inverse property; I don’t feel good when there isn’t something illegal in my body. I need the comfort of something destroying me, you get that don’t you Ni baby? And then you put your hand on my shoulder, drawing circles into my skin like it was meant to be comforting but what it really did was turn my mornings into rusty sunrises and make me smile into next Tuesday.  _Thank you thank you thank you_.

Harry Styles, you’re going to ruin Niall Horan’s life. _Beautiful, beautiful Niall Horan_.

Harry Styles, there just isn’t _anything_ in there that I can believe in anymore.

When my dad died I travelled the 3 hours to Zayn Malik’s house and cried into his shoulder. I cried out _DADDY DADDY DADDY_ all over town. I cried and I yelled it in Zayn Malik’s face and to the orange-red leaves, and to the dirty strippers on their cigarette break. _Do I have my excuse yet?_

Niall Horan, this is dream three. It’s a trilogy. Maybe we can start a series.

 _Harry, hi. Are you okay?_ _I don’t know._ I don’t know anything when I’m around you, Niall Horan.

 _Did you drink a lot? Did you…take…anything? Harry? Look at me_. I couldn’t look at you. You let me cry in your lap for three hours. You said it was no big deal when your jeans were soaked in my salty tears. Oh Niall, you’re so cute when you care. You tipped a cup of water into my mouth. _Drip drip drip_. It ran down my throat without the burn I’m used to. _God, I miss it._

 _Do you feel any better?_ And yes Niall Horan, _yes I do_. I’m bouncing; I’m buzzing and I’m dancing. I’m the world on fire, and Niall, you smell so good and it makes home easier to find and it makes me not go insane.

You buy me coffee and I thank you fourteen times before we manage to get out of the café. _Thank God, because I had no money to buy cocaine and whiskey and gin and thank you, Niall Horan_. You smile and duck your head in embarrassment. I can ruin your goddamn forsaken life but I can still make you smile right now.

I’m fucked up in the head. I’m Harry Styles and I’m a goddamn mess. I’m buzzing and I’m so happy and full of life for five minutes and then the next minute my eyelids are sprinkled in tears and I’m crying into empty paper coffee cups. I’m so scared, Ni-Ni. So afraid of what people will say; what you’ll hear about that train-wreck Harry Styles. They still talk, you know. What are you _doing_ with me? Haven’t you heard what they’re saying? Or are you just oblivious to anything not welcomed into the little bubble you created for yourself?

The Devil gave me a _BBBBBB_ on the paper I wrote about my father dying. What a wonderful thing - he dies and I do better than I have in _years_.

_You want to grab some coffee again?_

_YES_. Anything with you, dear.

 _You look hungry, Haz._ I don’t know where the hell the nickname Haz came from but Niall Horan you need to call me _Haz Haz Haz_ whenever the fuck you can.

I let you buy me a chocolate brownie and I pick away at it with mouse bites because real food is foreign to my tummy. I listen to you talk about your family back in Ireland and how music is all that really matters to you. You shine so brightly when you smile. I bet the moon is jealous of your lustre, my baby Nialler. It’s like your smile was draped in pretty, pretty cocaine and I want to be high under your spell. I smile while you speak. You make me smile, Niall; _you are made entirely of magic and stardust_.

It’s October and you invite me back to your apartment; your friends are out and I’m glad. I bet they all know about me, about that no good Harry Styles but you tell them they’ve got it all wrong. We watch movies in the dark but I can’t concentrate on anything but your breathing and your hot skin pressed against my leg and it feels like I have an entire continent of people swarming inside my tummy when you catch me staring and you smile – you smile and it’s what I imagine _contentment_ to feel like.

Nialler, Ni-Ni, I don’t want to ruin you when you smile like that but it’s going to happen in the end. We can't escape the inevitable.

Dream number four is Niall Horan leaning over me and kissing into my mouth like he’s been waiting to do that all night. I’m little and frail and Niall Horan is holding me in his arms and kissing me with a force I've never been met with before. I’m drunk but not _drunk_ drunk. I’m drunk on Niall Horan’s lips and my throat is swelling up because _he is golden._ No one warned me about how deadly and pretty you, Niall Horan, could be with red, petal lips all swollen with lust.

 _Hey, I like you_. That is what you, my little leprechaun, my Ni-Ni, that is what you whisper into my ear softly in late October and your friends are away again and we’re back to not watching a movie in the dark and staring at each other, and I don’t hide the smile that creeps up on my face.

 _I like you, too_. It doesn’t come out as a whisper because I’m still drunk from the southern comfort I had for breakfast but it’s still there and you smile. I’m going to cry when I get home and I’m going to puke and not clean it up. I’ll be sad and golden with you in mind. You wrap your arms around me and it isn’t suffocating like what I'm used to. My bones melt into your body and if I fall asleep, it’s pleasant and the nightmares aren’t there like usual.

Niall Horan kissed me again on November 2nd. That’s what I write over and over again on my paper for psychology. _Write about what makes you happy_. Niall Horan kissed me on his couch after we ate cake decorated in cocaine stained icing. I was high – the kind of high where you feel EVERYTHING and his lips tasted like velvet saturated in sugary goodness.

I stopped counting the kisses after that.

Ni, my baby, I’m sorry I fucked up. I got fucked on the bathroom floor at a party I don’t remember going to. I don’t want to tell you. I can already see the glassy effect in your eyes when I tell you how he fucked me into the cold bathroom tiles. I thought it was you, but he dug his nails into my hips, drawing blood, leaving bruises.  _No, no, no. Stop. I don't want this_. That's when I realised it wasn't you. You don't leave bruises, _not unless I ask_. I'm so, so sorry.  

I fucked up like I fuck up everything in my life. I came home and drank half a bottle of cheap whiskey I found under the sink. I threw up blood on my cream carpet and didn’t care enough to clean it up. I’m a murder scene, baby and I’m sorry. I’m going to ruin your life and cause you to stutter and shake whenever anyone mentions the name _Harry_.

Hi I’m Harry Styles. I want your nightmares. I’ll eat that shit like sour candy.

I did four lines in the bathroom before English class and that’s all I remember. I woke up in bed the next morning, sweating and screaming for you. I’ll ruin your life but I want you back, Ni-Ni.

The devil tells us to write about suffering. Ha ha, so funny. I’ll write you a fucking masterpiece on suffering. _AAAAAA_ , give me a fucking A and make me feel _AMAZING_. My daddy drank himself to death and I tucked him in every night before scurrying off to my bedroom to lock my door and get high. My daddy hit me. It was black and blue and purple and no one ever said anything, and why would they? I'm sick of seeing nothing but shades of blue and purple. 

 _This is all your fault. Your mother hates you; I hate you and you're going to turn out just like me_. Every bit of it was true. He hit me and he hit me and I cried and continued to tuck him into bed when he stumbled in from the pub every night.

I’m Harry Styles and I’m going to ruin your life. I’m a train-wreck plastered in bruises and cuts. I’m so so sorry, _I don’t mean to take you all down with me_.

I get an A and she smiles weakly at me like maybe it’s not my fault I’m like this. But it is.

I want to race through your door and find you with your arms open wide for me. I want to scream _NIALLER, NIALL, NI-NI, MY BABY I GOT AN AAAAAAA FOR AMAZING._  You’d be so proud of me.

It’s nearing Christmas and I’m skin and bones again. I need you to sweep me off my feet and feed me all the cake in the world. _I’m not okay_ , Niall Horan. I don’t think I ever will be.

I read the newspaper for the first time in my life. _Zayn Malik just died_. He was run over by a drunk driver the day after Christmas and I can’t feel anything. I don’t remember how to breathe and I’m going to die.

I don’t leave the couch for ten days and I don’t sleep for three. I’m scared. _NNNNNN_ is dancing on the tip of my tongue and every time I open my mouth, I can feel your cocaine skin slithering down my throat like a disease, Niall Horan. Why are you doing this to me?

You left me a voicemail three weeks later and I could feel the air escaping my lungs. You left a message all for _ME_ – for the boy you let ruin your life.

I remember your voice and I remember your words.

 _Haz, I’m sorry. I loved you too_. Niall, you loved me. That is past tense. That makes me cry.

_It’s not going to work out between us, Haz. You’re fucking scary. You scare people – sometimes you scare me. You need help… You never let me hold your hand, Harry._

The words came out of your mouth like you wanted to immediately pick them up and tuck them back under your tongue. Your words are an afterthought you’ll regret; I guess we have that in common, don’t we Ni? Your words and I, I mean - both just empty things you can regret.

I ruined you and it's ruining me.

I didn't wash or attend class for two weeks. I know, I promised you _no heroine - not ever_ but not having you felt like a massive void was taking over me the same way a tumour does. I'm so so sorry, Ni. Your face - it's there and it's everywhere and sometimes it's in every corner of the room staring at me with beady eyes as if to say _STOP_ but Niall, I'm okay. I'm doing just fine and I hope you are too. 

It's all fucking great. I don't feel the pain anymore. Instead I just feel numb.

 _Niall Horan_ , I had a nightmare about you. It was the start of many.

It smells like piss and vomit and the pills are too far out of reach. The broken bottles of whiskey in my hands aren’t your hands. Replace these bottles with your hands, _please Niall_.

The blood is the colour of your lips after you kissed me for the last time. _Niall, baby, do you see this? Do you?_ It’s pooling around me and I’m _floating_. There's just so much of it.

I dialled your number 36 times.  _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8_ minutes later everything was blurry and I saw the outline of your body falling by my side. You were quickly covered in blood. Your blood or my blood - I'm not sure. _I'm not sure of anything right now_.

 _Oh Harry, what have you done?_ You held my hand and shakily dialled a number I don’t remember anymore. Please don’t leave.

*

Niall Horan you’re crying and I’m sorry. Your eyes never displayed such sadness before. I want to rip my eyes out if it means I never have to see you sad again. My eyes are fighting to stay open, just to see your cocaine skin melting into mine. It's all numb. I feel the pain dissolve as your eyes fill with more tears. Everything except you is slowing down. The beating in my chest is slow, slower, slo....  _What’s going on? Niall answer me. Baby, Ni my love, why aren’t you answering me?_

I guess you get to hold my hand now, Ni. 

**Author's Note:**

> Take this however you want. I wrote it erratically as if it were all in his head, but you can take it as little excerpts from a diary if you wish to.


End file.
